16
by natcat5
Summary: One to Fifteen. He can remember them all. From cold to warmth. From loneliness to love. Now it's number Sixteen, and what can he do but reflect? Happy Birthday Allen.


**1. **

He can't remember this very well. Warmth. Light. Blankets and bright colours. Those are his memories of the 1st one.

**2. **

He can remember the second one a little better. Alone. Less warmth. Standing this time, instead of lying down. Alone. Definitely alone. Ahead of him, a locked door. Locking out the warmth. Light coming from beneath the door. Alone.

**3. **

He can remember the third one with more clarity. Words come to him. He remembers asking questions. 'Why?' being the prominent one.

_Why am I alone? _

**4. **

The fourth one has a haze over it, though he doesn't know why. The images are there, but under a prominent fog.

Four of them. A woman, a man, an elderly woman, and a man that is both young and old. He is positive that that the woman and the man are his birth parents, and that there is a high chance that the elderly lady is his Grandmother. The other man, however, gave him an unpleasant sensation, even though it was at an age he shouldn't have been able to feel it.  
This man wore a cross around his throat and a disgusted expression on his face.

**5. **

With the fifth one, it is not so much remembering the event, as remembering the sensations.

Cold. Everything was cold. His feet were cold, and there was no barrier between them and the concrete below. Where had his socks and shoes gone? They had been there for the 4th, he was sure.

Cold. Pain.

Pain in his stomach, in his head. He might have remembered someone throwing something at him. He might not have. He knew something was wrong with his arm. It hurt, and hung numbly at his side.

Numbness was everywhere though.

And he thought that, maybe, his arm had always been like this.

He just hadn't noticed until it caused him to be so cold.

**6. **

The sixth was much like the fifth, except the details were much more blurry. Cold. Pain. It was the same, but worse.

And yet, this time he could feel it less. The sensations came through a haze. He remembered cold, pain, hunger. But nothing else. That time- that entire _year-_ was a blur.

**7. **

The memories of the seventh one were much sharper. Warmth, firelight, shadows dancing on the walls. Warmth on his feet. A blanket on his shoulders. A cup in his hand. A dull ache in his stomache, rather than a sharp pain.

His arm hidden deep within his tattered clothes, and a deep fear that he would be cast out into the cold again if it were discovered.

**8. **

Even sharper. He remembered the Eighth one clearly. The first one with the circus. The pain in his belly had been less than it had been in years. And the cold was banished by the constant warmth from the number of fires around the tents. There were people. With faces this time. A lady with dark eyes, a man with a beard. People who didn't run away, or chase him, or hit him.

The first one, since the 1st, where he truly wasn't alone.

**9. **

He remembered that the ninth is the one where he realized that just because he wasn't alone, didn't mean he was accepted.

The warmth was still there. The faces were still there. But this time, he felt the distance. The distance he hadn't realized was there on the eighth one.

He remembers huddling beside a tent, alone, all the spots beside the fires taken. He remembers gnawing on a hard, painful piece of…something.

He also remembers a clown, with a kind face, leaning down and ending that gnawing, and that loneliness, with a large piece of bread and a stretched out hand.

**10. **

In all the nine times before, he never had a specific day.

It was more a time, a feeling. From his earliest memories of his parents, he knew that it came at a time when the world was cold, and when the winds blew crisp and there was a light dusting of white on the ground. After he was alone, he only had a general idea of when that time was. It was a different day each year, only ever consistently in winter.

And that is why the memory of the tenth time is so vivid. Because that's when it gained a date.

December 25th.

He remembers shock, when he found out that he wouldn't be alone anymore. Disbelief, anger, thinking that it was a joke. Than happiness, joy, warmth unlike any other that swelled within him.

The best memory, that was the tenth one.

**11. **

With the eleventh memory, came the comfort of familiarity, of consistency. Here was the same warmth, the same happiness, the same joy. Untempered by time. Here was a consistent date, here was a _celebration. _A cake! A cake for this day! And a present. A beautiful present. Nothing could compare to the gift from the 10th, but the 11th is amazing, and cherished, just the same.

**12. **

The twelfth memory was just the same. Laughter. Life. Love. But a tinge of something else. He remembers hearing a cough, watching them bend over, watching their walk slow, seeing the first vestiges of sickness beginning to emerge…

A winter cold. That's what it was. Just a cold.

**13. **

The thirteenth memory has all its details blurred, much like the sixth one. However, this is because it is a flurry of activity. There is no sort of pause on this day. Whether it's Christmas or his 13th one, there is no difference. It is still a blur of training, and running, and trying to feed himself and get better at cards.

And he remembered thinking, for a moment, that perhaps it was better this way, because there was very little time to think about being alone again for the first time in four years.

**14. **

The fourteenth memory is much like the thirteenth, but there is a sharper edge to it. He is busy, but a lot of it is training, and awareness. His business does not distract him from loss, but hones his concentration. He knows what he's training for, who he's fighting for, and that he needs to endure.

**15. **

The fifteenth memory is stagnant. While the last two were fast moving, this one is still. On this day, he contemplated, and he thought. He knew what he had to do, and he could see that there was a path for him to take stretched out before him, but he wasn't on it yet. The man, that womanizing bastard, hadn't allowed him to step out onto that path yet.

He remembers stretching out his hand, seeing the hateful red colour that he's come to love. Remembering the dog that first licked that hand, and how that dog had led him to the man that, in three short years, had changed his life.

This memory was still, the calm before the storm, before a year of stepping onto that path, and running for the end.

While the cobblestones crumbled underneath him.

**_LINE_**

"_Hmhmhmm hm hm hmmmmm." _

"…What's that sound?"

"_Hmhmhmm hm hm hmmmm." _

"What sound?"

"_HmhmHMM hm hm hm hmmmm." _

"That sound!"

"Oh, you're just noticing it now?"

"_Hmhmhmm hm hm hm." _

"It's the prisoner, he's been humming to himself since the day started. I think it's that birthday song or whatever. I have no idea why the hell he's humming it. It's Christmas, after all."

"Think he can even tell?"

"I dunno. They've got a lot of seals on him. Can't imagine they do wonders for ones mental state or perception of time…"

Allen leaned against the back corner of the room, hair falling in front of his face and obscuring most of his vision. He'd lift his arm to brush it out of his face, but his limbs felt ridiculously heavy. In addition, there was something unsettling about seeing his skin such a dark colour.

And, of course, he wasn't exactly the one in control of his limbs at the moment.

"_Hmhmhmm hm hm hmmmm." _

Internally, Allen sighed. He'd started humming again. Not _him, himself, _but the other one. The one that currently had control of his body.

"_Hmhmhmm hm hm hmmmm." _

Happy Birthday. That was what he was humming. That was what he had been humming since late last night. Or rather, early that morning.

"_HmhmHMM hm hm hm hmmmm." _

Allen could only guess why. He didn't know how long he had been in the cell, but he did know it was winter, and he did know that it had been December when he had first been imprisoned.

And, of course, the Pianist would love nothing more to take the opportunity to serenade Allen on this day. Wherever they might be.

_**Sixteen…**_

What memories could he look back on for this? A cold, dark cell. A heaviness everywhere. Feeling like a spectator looking through his own eyes. Unable to do _anything. _

_**You seem upset. You never seemed to be so aware of these days in the past. Why does this bother you now? **_

Allen hearts the 14th's voice. He wants to ignore it, but it's a good question and he wants to answer it. Not just for his Uncle, but for himself as well.

_I never thought about my birthday more than I thought about this one. _

_The majority of my birthdays were just…days in the year. Days I remember a little better than others, but just days. _

_With Mana, they were better. There was love, and presents, for the first time. But I never expected them. I never counted down the days to my birthday. When it came, I was just happy that we were still together, that the wondrous fantasy was still going on. _

_After Mana died, there was no time for birthdays. My birthday became just another day in the year again. I didn't mind. I was busy. There were things I needed to do. It was okay if my birthday faded back again. _

_This year…._

_I've thought about my birthday more this year than any other. With all the people I've met, all the friends I've made, all the people I care about, I thought…._

A smile twisted across Allen's face, a smile that belonged purely to a descendent of the Noah clan, as did the short laugh that followed.

_**You thought you would have a party Allen? You thought you would have a real celebration, with all of your friends, and cake, and presents, and smiles and happiness and that oh-so-coveted warmth? **_

….Would the 14th laugh if he said that, yes, that _was _what he had been hoping for? Yes, he had thought about his birthday so much this year because of the prospect of celebrating with all of his new friends?

But there would be no party. There would be no friends. Contact had been lost with Lavi and Lenalee, Kanda had disappeared with Alma. And even if they were all found…

He was a traitor. Heretic. He'd never be allowed near them again.

That vision he'd had, one of the few selfish ones that he allowed himself to indulge in, of having all of his friends, the Exorcists, the scientists, the finders, gathered around and singing happy birthday…

_**Well, we can celebrate your birthday here, dearest nephew. **_

"_Hmhmhmm hm hm hmmmm." _

The song starts again.

_Happy Birthday to me…_

Inside his mind, Allen curls up tightly, feeling that oh so hated cold and loneliness creeping up on him again.

**_LINE_**

**16. **

**ALONE. **

...

...

**_Uh...Merry Christmas? _**

**_Review? Pretty please? _**


End file.
